On The Way to Eternity

I am no saint. I seldom know who I actually am. I’ve been re-invented, re-constructed more times than I can recall. This life feels like a ride down fierce rapids. In moments I feel strong and in moments I feel weak. I have felt I’ve been blessed by God in ways I never imagined. In other ways, I feel I’ve cursed myself to face judgment unprepared.

I have failed in many ways. I have succeeded in other ways. There is no absolute. Like a field of broken ice, I cling to what keeps me afloat looking for the next chunk to save my life.

The success I feel today could be washed away tomorrow. Somewhere in my DNA is the feeling of failure simmering on low boil. Am I always meant to feel I am never quite successful enough? Maybe the feeling will never go away.

Last year, I felt free of those feelings. I felt awoken and challenged to the ways of the world. For one brief moment, I was able to see myself from a distance. To re-assess who I am and what my potential could be. To see myself in the context of the world was worth the effort and the sacrifice of Jan and me. The world welcomed me and I embraced what lies in other places.

I have seen life as I wish I could live it. For that I’m blessed and cursed. It drives me to succeed. It pushes me forward with new vision and motivation.

As I move forward, I must push away the past. I’m not sure where it leads me to abandon my father. I’m not sure where it takes me. His presence in my life is the slippery nature of the ice I cling to. At once welcoming, now seems deadly as the water rages wishing to make me a victim. I am no victim. I take responsibility for all that I am and for all that I have done. I rescued him to have him throw me in the waters. I do not regret saving him for that I am most proud. I just do not want to share another ice flow with him. I finally have climbed out of the waters and sit upon a decent piece of ice. I proclaim I’m saved whether or not anyone listens. I am working my way back to the place where I can call home.

If God declares me unfit for eternity because I chose to not share the ice and cower to the whims of my father, I will let my pride and hurt take me under. I passed the test when life was in the balance. I honored my father. Without regard to anything other than his survival I fought for his life and gave him all he needed. Now, he has no idea or the desire to understand we are even in this exchange of kindness.

From my knees I stand, to admit I made a foolish decision to trust my father. It has been my test from God. I see the light. In my deal with the devil I was able to dance in heaven only to fall into a spiritual hell I did not contemplate. Was it worth it?

Ah, it seems a bit like Homer was the author of this drama but it is my words and my thoughts wrapping around my mind. It is my feelings in the coldness of silence while in the presence of God, I think these thoughts.

As the family abandons me, I feel the drifting emptiness of this ice I hold. If their words reach God’s ears, then I will slip into the abyss of whatever eternity is meant for scoundrels.

But now, I stand on my ice as strong as I will ever be. I know nothing is certain, tomorrow is as dangerous as today, but I have been through the rapids and know how difficult it can be. I survived and I will survive again.


I thank God for opportunities, friends, contacts and luck. I stand up strong and independent. I will pick up those who went through the rapids with me and we will form a stronger block of ice in which to travel the rest of our way toward eternity. The truth of what we’ve done will make our journey smoother.

For which I took from my father as I gift, I will return as if a penance and a sin. Every dollar given will be returned. If my life was dependent upon a dollar amount then each cent will represent the opportunity given, the love lost, and the cleansing of my soul. I hope by doing so, I can drift into eternity and into a world of peace; to live the life I was once given a chance to glimpse.

The Generation of Now

Today there is little reflection about the path behind us. We concentrate solely on the road ahead. In creating a journey in such a way we fall victim of getting lost. Of not contemplating the lessons learned. However, we are in the midst of a generation worshipping the now. It is fortified by elders who think only to push their way to the front with little regard to the consequences. They may just push their way off a cliff.

Past generations rejected the past out of rebellion yet they took the time to contemplate why. They either joined the fight or rebelled against it, there was never any apathy.

Now, this generation shows little emotion for moral issues, political philosophy or anything worth rebelling against. Apathy is their conscience. In some sense, the only thing this generation feels worthy is themselves. Other generations joined together for a cause while this generation celebrates their individualism as if it were a holy grail in which everyone should make a crusade. The myspace pages become altars to their existence.

As we head into a presidential election we have a generation unaware of yesterday, eagerly influenced by a ten second sound bite contrived in the past hour. They are not capable of understanding the struggles of past generations let alone what occurred last week. They are lemmings led into the sea by the bantering pontifications of actors disguised as journalists. The siren calls of politicians inciting the frenzy.

Now is the time of clarity. Yet, we will not have any clear view of where we are headed nor of where we have come from.

If I didn’t know better, the 1920’s felt very much like it does today…but no one seems to mention the similarity. The generation of the time was too busy living the high life, enamored with style, movie stars, and all the trappings they thought would last forever. However, the bell tolled and the market crashed. They couldn’t have everything. Someone told them they could and they lied. Just like those who purchased mortgages with variable rates with the nudge-nudge promise the rates would never go up. Someone lied.

The media was also a shrill for whatever tragic or peculiar event took place. They thrilled to side-show journalism, gangster crime and movie stars. Sound familiar?

Before they knew it, reality hit them hard as the fog cleared and the path was revealed. The Great Depression became a sink hole for a generation to climb out of. The next generation fell into the hole because of the lack of leadership, foresight, greed and apathy. Sounds a bit like today, now doesn’t it?

Instead of building safety nets from a falling economy, domestic terrorism, or natural disaster we just sit and wait for something to happen. Meanwhile, the generation continues to make idols of themselves on myspace pages to enjoy the party. 23 Skidoo Daddy-o.

Where we are headed is up to those we chose but we all need to stop looking at our navels and stop to see where we are, where we are going and find a direction without a hole to fall into.

As I begin to teach students of this generation about film, they do not care about the past.

This is only film, not politics yet they feel the movies before they were born are inferior before they even see them. A sample of how they view this world. The past is inferior and only their view is the brightest.

I was never a big John Wayne fan, but in preparing for the class I have watched more of his films and what comes across is a type of man that seems to be disappearing from society. The ideal that we can change things with our attitude. Be a stand up guy or get out.

That type of person is gone. Wayne represented a generation who fought out of hole to rise to the top of the mountain and no one was going to knock them off. Now we have a generation forgetting they are on the top of the mountain and forget what lies deep below.

Dumped On

It’s a bit hard to realize how much I wrote in the past year and a half. It now seems difficult to start writing. Not much to say.

Recently, I have to say the things I take out of each day are the sense of humility I am taught. In sharing the revelation a friend said to me, “Isn’t that a good thing?” I guess. I think of it a lesson of life.

The lessons come in words from others who do not know me. I am the stranger for the day. People do not ask many questions but treat me as a hired hand. I smile and push down my thoughts. I learn people care very little about life outside their world. No matter the intelligence, no matter the circumstances they leap to stereotypes and judge others by the appearance in their world.

A stranger can not give you anything, the person must earn his place by knowing me…the lesson others tell me.

We live in a world absorbed in its own cultures. No matter how big the culture, no matter who is in the culture, we seek nothing from outsiders. There is nothing different from us than the Romans of ancient times. No different. In this world of Google we seek out only what is comfortable.

I imagine how a salesman feels.

This humility I am learning seems like a penance. I bow before God each day to learn I am merely mortal. I watch how the legends blocks from each other are unaware of each other. What I mean is, at one TV station there are those who are as well known as a brother or sister and yet two blocks down the street at another station, those people are unknown. Total strangers. Their work means nothing in the stranger’s eyes.

People do not listen or learn about things outside their realm. I sit with people who have attended the same events but do not retain the knowledge of others. They are too busy wrapped up in their life.

For all of this, I think I am learning. Learning without a church or priest the consequences of life. We build our sand castles and they fall. The strangers who pass by our beaches do not know of the things we built nor do they care. They wish only to build their own, swim in the sea and enjoy the sun. They do not care who was there before or who else is on the beach.

I don’t ask for much, except a welcoming hand from a stranger to ask my name. My name is somewhat important. My life less, but my name may be needed in the next hour you may have to deal with me.

I once cared to make a mark in this world, yet I’m learning the marks don’t stick. Each sphere in which we participate has its own temporary life of memory.


So, what I would tell any student today. Walk as if you walk alone. Care less about how people treat you and put more into your own work. Be happy for what you do and not who you are with. If you are not happy with yourself then you may find yourself lost in a world eager to make you unhappy with yourself.

However, kissing ass helps.

The Skye was Falling

We had a lot of snow yesterday. Worst storm since we moved to Ohio. It brought back memories of Michigan and Syracuse. We can finally say that this part of the country has experienced what we used to experience all the time in other places.

See a video of Skye's great day...press the play button and watch her try to find her ball.

Skye loved the snow and it was the first time in her life she experienced the joy of extreme amounts of snow. She loved it and her genes were showing.

Thunder also enjoyed the day.

Meeting Old Friends in Dreams

What sickness proves…

We all are vulnerable.
We all need someone.

It seems I have the habit of experiencing big things then experiencing a big crash. The Florida trip was just another example of how I can feel on the top of my game only to be reminded days later how little it really matters.

The contrast of the Florida sunshine and the miserable snowy Cleveland weather was enough to make me depressed, but not being able to breath without hacking, working despite it all and slugging it out trying not to look weak (as men are often said to be during their sickness) and as one of you used to say I was a “baby”.

The last three nights I’ve slept in the guest room which doubles as our infirmary. Each night I’ve awoken, covered in sweat…the sheets soaked. If I didn’t wake up feeling better each morning I would be worried but now I control my own medical expenses I will get tough. I know the only thing the doctor will do is give me a few antibiotics and I’ll pay a few hundred bucks. They already say we take too many antibiotics, so I’ll take my stand.

Our infirmary housed Janis when she had her foot surgery. Our little Murphy dog would stay with her, glued to her side and happy as a clam. I think back to the time and it as if the little dog had lived just for the week she played nurse maid. She was in her glory. She only left the room to relieve herself and then she would be right back making sure Janis was given good care. The other dogs became anxious not seeing Janis for days. Finally they staged an assault on the door and managed to get into the room. Murphy panicked. Her little eyes darted as if her wonderful world was crashing down upon her.

A few days later, Janis left the room despite the pleas of Murphy to stay. The little dog was sad and depressed for a time.

My second night in the infirmary I had a dream. As all dreams are so subconsciously driven, I was on a college campus and next to me was Murphy. She didn’t want to just walk beside me she wanted me to hold her. So, I did. Everywhere I would go she would be with me. In the dream, I remember how her presence on a trip somewhere was always a comfort. Her curiosity sometimes outweighed by her fears. She held tight to my arm. We somehow arrived in Oban. She and I content to be with each other. We searched the stores and she enjoyed the people. In one store, I went to look for some beer and in the process ended up in a clothing store and Murphy had disappeared. I figured I would find her on the way out…but it turned into a maze and I could not find her. However, I was not worried. She would find me. I woke up.

It was a dream I needed. In the process of this life I forget those who make a difference. The little dog will always be with me, even if I don’t know it. She will find me. Then it came to me, will I ever do that for anyone?

It is something in the sickness and the sleeping aids where I came up with the thought. My mind, my body, my spirit has taken a complete pounding over the year. I watched the TV last night and all the news of foreclosures, student loans, layoffs, jobs…etc…reality struck.

I work in a place, I was once an employee, but now I’m not but everyone thinks I am and yet no one seems to notice…long story but an odd truth about my situation. I still have a desk I do believe.

I have become the ghost I said I would become. I walk through quiet halls and pass strangers. It will all vanish. I know so…

I’ve reached the age where my temporary boss at the moment could be my child.

As I sit there working, I think of Murphy. I can’t talk without hacking away. I have to mumble and so no one knows what I’m saying. I’m wiping down everything constantly to prevent others from getting what I have and no one says to me, “Go home.” Instead, when I eventually leave it is with the disappointment I left an hour early.

As I lay on the couch, watching the world flash by me in dramatic form I long for the simplicity of life. It occurs to me how quickly this culture has robbed me of the small nuisances I enjoyed a year ago. If they can rob me of my feelings they can take their culture and slam it upon you so lasting and strong, you may never get free.

It all swirls around in my stuffed head and I think of the little dog cuddling my arm. When I go, will there ever be someone seeking my comfort? Isn’t that really what this is all about? I’m not sure what is written or what rules I’m supposed to follow but I think I’ve learned you only need to be kind, true, and steadfast in your beliefs. We are always tempted to change our beliefs. Being a free-lancer challenges me all the time.

In the process, I’ve learned I need very little but a sense of accomplishment and someone to love. My sense of accomplishment is waning and it seems the bar has fallen off the rack. But I have someone I love very much, who for some unknown reason seems to want me in her life.

So, again, the head swirling on the couch I imagine this crazy world without Janis and I can’t contemplate it. In a bit of a revelation, as I lay on my back, a man broken in every way conceivable I still have hope. I have her.

I realized on my trip to Florida, surrounded by peers and men, how utterly different I am from the rest. No wonder my dreams are strange, my goals a bit off, and my situation so unique.

As I found Murphy in a night’s sleep, I also found Oban. I may be the only man alive who would rather live in Scotland than the US so I was comforted to know the place is still in my heart, nestled in my subconscious, resting in my soul to emerge someday.

Before I turned off the television and returned to bed…a deeper revelation. I can lose everything but I can not lose the one person who needs me. What I learned from Murphy’s visit the other evening told me Janis needs me in the same way. I will always be there. I will return, I will find her, I comfort her.

No matter what happens. No matter if I am poor or rich, wise or unwise, here or there. I will be there. I don’t think my life would mean much if I wasn’t there for someone. I don’t seem to be making much of a dent in the rest of the world, but with you three I seem to have a chance.

Regardless. Whatever the after-life may bring, if I can give to Janis the same comfort I received from a little dog, traveling in the place I love and feeling as if all will be okay then I have lived a good life and this journey has been worth every step.

Oh, and I can guarantee you…my spirit won’t be walking the streets of Cleveland…I may still be looking for a beer…but also a good seat on a nice terrace…where no one speaks but everyone smiles. We never notice the rain.

Youth...the song of Good.

The other day I purchased a song for my iPod. It was a bizarre little ditty. But it was a song of my childhood. The worn record played on an old record player as we played army men or built models.

“The Battle of New Orleans” by Johnny Horton.

In 1814 we took a little trip…along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip…
We took a little bacon and we took a little beans.
And we caught the bloody British in the town of New Orleans.

We fired our guns and the British kept a coming.
There wasn’t as many as there was a while ago.
We fired once more and they began to running,
Down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.

A little tune to make you happy about a childhood of army men, Daniel Boone, and coonskin caps.

Remember when the discussion was whether Daniel Boone was tougher than Davy Crockett? Well, I do. It was a no win discussion but I’d put my money on Davy Crockett.

On the same album, Sink the Bismarck. The one thing I learned before I even went to school was that the Germans had a huge battleship was really tough to sink. Thanks to a goofy little song…

We’ll find that German battleship…
That’s making such a fuss.
We’ve got to sink the Bismarck.
Because the world is such a muss.

We’ll hit those decks a running boys,
And spin those guns around.
When we find the Bismarck,
We’ve got to cut her down.

I listen now and wonder how we learn. A song, a record album and a bit of history.

Our youth propels us to believe.
Our youth propels us without us knowing.

We dream sometimes of never growing old. We find ourselves caught in bodies and time we never expected. We feel young and we carry the torch forward to light up a part of our life we hope will represent what we believe is a good life.

Unfortunately, we find out the good is all in the perspective.
I felt “good” a few times where the perspective never changed. Work became work. But love was always love. A good love may glimmer in mirrors and change its appearance but only its appearance. Love is good regardless.

Here I am again at my age, feeling like a twenty something knowing what is good in life and what is not from the perspective of a middle aged man. I hope for the youth to remember the feelings of youth. They are good and they never go away. The perspective changes but the feelings never mean less. They grow in value over time.

The pounding beat of a heart signifies love, health and life. May you have all three and may they all be good.

SUN!

The weather can change you. It can change your perspective. I’m sitting in sunshine in the middle of February. A brilliant day if it were in Scotland. I type of day the locals would remember for a long time. But as I embrace this beautiful day, I hear the old people complain of the cold and putting on jackets; looking forward to the soup of the day.

Here I am in shorts and a golf shirt. It is all a matter of what you are used to. I even went swimming in rather chilly water. But because I have taken a dip in Lake Michigan in the middle of summer, I know what cold water really is. Nothing is too cold if it won’t induce hypothermia.

So, I enjoy the frozen chill. It is good to be in the sun, the water and despite the work load there really isn’t much to complain about.

We’ve worked two 14 hour days in a row and this is my first morning to take a breath. The car leaves in 15 minutes.

As I think about it, the sun and the weather and the way of life. I can only imagine how my life would be different if I spent most of my life down here. The North would be as unforgiving and barren as any tundra.

More than that, the lifestyle would be different. The smell of grass all the time probably goes unnoticed. The strong sun becomes weaker over time.

A day of golf can occur any time while in the north we wait for the snow to melt, the ground to dry and our hands to unfreeze.

Not much else to say today, except the car is about to leave, I’m driving and the sun is shinning.

Happy Valentine's Day

A hidden camera portrait of Jan and Dean on a Sunday afternoon.

The Laughing Sounds of Leaves

Looking for a laugh? There was always Grace. She could always give out a laugh when you needed it. Unfortunately it didn’t make her life happier. She became very nervous and afraid. Instead of letting her laughs brush away the sorrow of age it was just a momentary escape. The weight of life grew heavy on her.

She was a good grandmother. Some of us are born to do certain things and some of us grow into roles. She must have been somewhere in between. She had a rough childhood during the Depression and it weighed heavily on her. She had issues like the rest of us. My own mind wanders down some of the paths she took. It is easy to get down and fear the worst.

Just the other day, her home town suffered a huge fire. I can only imagine what Grace would do in the wake of such a tragedy. The town she loved so much charred and destroyed. I am sure her worries would have manifested into a mood I’m glad she never had the chance to experience.

As a grandchild, I thought the town revolved around my grandparents. When we walked to the store or went to church it seemed as if they were the town’s founding couple. The people shook hands, nods were exchanged and a good laugh. It was as if everyone embraced my grandparents in a communal hug and a pat on the back.

To me it was a great town, better than my own. It had a river you could swim in, cool stores full of toys and ice cream shops. A visit to my grandparents was always a treat. Their house was quaint and clean. The staircase was slick from polish. The smells will never leave my mind. From the apples ripening on the back porch, to the scent of the couch where we’d watch Johnny Carson, to the bedrooms where I would try to sleep in the house I considered sacred.

When things in our lives change, it is as if it happens and we don’t respond. We see the falling leaves but do not contemplate the tree is bare. We don’t appreciate the tree when it is full and we lament when the limbs hold nothing but memories.

As my grandmother aged, I seemed to be unaware of the bare tree. I never contemplated the emptiness that would occur. The laughs were like fall leaves dancing quietly in the air and rustling on the ground.

I sometimes feel as if I’m trying to be more aware of falling leaves of those around me. I contemplate that someday they will no longer hold the gems we remember them by.

Because I did not fully understand, because I was selfishly concerned about myself, I was unaware of what was happening. Maybe I did, but subconsciously I never realized the moments would end. It is in our way of coping we think everything will continue as it is.

Memories beget memories until they are faded from the world. I speak of my grandmother because her memory should not fade. She made me feel as if I had the best grandparents in the world. She succeeded at being a grandmother beyond what she expected in herself. She made me feel normal and special at the same time.

I’m not sure what she would say of me today. I just hope she’d laugh.

When I pass by her old home it is as if the moments we had slowly reacting to their passing come back with a vengeance. It is a slap in the face. What we hold precious today can be gone tomorrow. The smells lingering in my mind are gone on earth. The sights and comforts of what we hold dear vanished.

I have no warm memories of my own home. It was always cold and spooky. But, my grandparent’s home was like a way station on the journey to adulthood. What I learned from them in their home I take with me wherever I go.

Whenever I feel like a laugh is needed, I think of Grace.

The Ghosts of Orchard Street

I often wondered why I woke up in the middle of the nights when I was a child. I blamed it on ghosts. I’m sure there were ghosts but more than likely it was the angst of what I would become. Whatever truths existed in my life, the future was a blueprint. There were expectations in my mind to be something more than what was expected. There was no gauge set, no compass, but a meandering direction in my mind.

I can recall the street of our home more clearly than most things, a vivid dream sometimes, and the last time I returned it had all changed. The dream is more real than the reality.

What is our youth? What fate do we own for where we are born and raised? I doubt much, for my birthplace means nothing in my life today.

I don’t believe in a birthplace as much as a “lifeplace.” The more I think of it, there seems to be a lifeplace for each of us. A place, where we came alive or where we feel alive. It is a place where our dreams are real and reality is as close to those expectations as they can be to be what we imagined. Each of the four of us, have a place we may have found or are still searching for. I found mine.

I may have forgotten the sleepless nights of childhood but I know the sleepless nights of adulthood. A child awakes out of fear. An adult awakes out of anxiety. I fear little now, but I’m anxious about everything.

Some of our friends do not contemplate the thought of other places to find their peace. They carry out their lives as if their lives are complete. They know of only one world, the one they made and they gauge the world by how they live. Their compass always points them to their home, their hometown; their birthplace.

I think we all want to feel safe at home. We want to feel complete. We want our lives to mean something in the end. In our minds, our world was created in our youth and as we grew up the Dorian Gray picture of our lives remained. It changed very little until we awoke and felt our age.












The Ghost of Adolescence

My imperfections lie in the painting of my life. No masterpiece, no great work, but something personal. It is a painting most people seem to pass by in this great gallery of lives. Nothing catches their eye to make them stop and look. But if they stopped and took a look there might be something there to remember.

The childhood ideas of being “something” seem less important after I’ve met those people who are “something.” With age, comes the determination of completeness. We wish we could have everything we dreamed. When I’m with the “somethings” they are so afraid to become “nothings” they spend most of their time talking about themselves. They spend too much time telling themselves they have everything.

It is with age, I learned the most meaningful people are those who we just pass by. Their paintings are not masterpieces but they are personal. They don’t stop people in their tracks but a good observer will find a gem in their canvas. A good listener will hear the brilliance in the artist.

When I think about the ghosts of Orchard Street, I think of artists who were busy painting their canvases, unsure of what to paint. We believed in darker tones to match the dourness of a place we thought was home. Now, the bright colors of our lifeplace cover up the darkness. Our dreams on canvas, the artists still painting and trying to use every piece. We each have our hopes the painting won’t be finished until it is exactly what we dreamed.



Let’s hope we have enough paint.

Three Ladies and a Tramp

This blog is for three people. My mother, my sister and my wife. Three women, who change, impact and inspire me each day of my life. The reason I created this blog is simple. My wife needs it. She misses the blog entries I used to create on a daily basis. For almost a full year of our marriage, the blog was our connection. It became a way for me to discuss my feelings and for her to read about them. She could have just asked or talked with me but there is something in my writing I guess she needs. I don’t blame her. I do find the voice I have on paper is much better at being specific, emotional and foretelling. I articulate better writing than speaking.

So, I guess I am the tie binding this little group. At least I will have a place to express my feelings. I may not write as frequently as before. I do miss the daily writing. Like exercise, I need to keep in shape, so I think it is good to at least write a little every day.

I have found my brain losing its dexterity. Last year, really made it work and I enjoyed the feeling of maxing it out with theory and perspectives.

Just the nature of this blog may point out a simple fact: I relate better with women then men. I find men to be caustic, plodding, arrogant, and wrapped up in their insecurities. I would never confide my true feelings with any of my male friends. They would turn everything inward and wonder what it means to them. And politics finds men wanting to prove their sexuality by their stances. I call it “dick swagger.” Men are conservatives because they think a hammer can solve any situation. Just pound the nail…and keep pounding until the problem is fixed. Excuse me dude, but we are dealing with mold? Well, burn it! It will catch the house on fire. Build a new house!!! It’s all about muscle and swagger.

I guess my personal feelings and thoughts have to be written down. They tell you not to give out so much information on blogs but I’ve done it for a long time now. Somewhere someone knows way too much about me. I often think no one understands me really. Sometimes not even myself. However, I would say you three know me rather well.

I wish I could say this blog won’t go into discussing a certain place we all know I’ll write about. But, of course, I’ll write about….Michigan.

Here’s the first take on that….I like running at night because if I play the right music, look down at the cement, I transport myself to a town far away. I imagine the stone walls passing by my feet on my right…the long causeway…the bus stops…the crisp wrappers…it all comes back to me as I run.

American life is so smothering. I have to come out and say it, I don’t like the people. I found Russians as stubbornly dismissive as Americans but not Scots. Maybe the English are so, but not the Scots. Americans are so self-centered it is an impenetrable force and discussions are a tap dance of boosting egos.

Academics are as arrogant as TV stars and they really have no right to be. Now, when I deal with people it is so much easier, as I just let them talk. I feel humbled. I’ve had my knees taken out on a cheap shot. I am vulnerable. As I go from one culture of TV (NBC) to another culture (PBS) and then another (Scottish TV) and then another (Sports Time Ohio), I find that my existence is insignificant in the rush of talent. Like water it forces everything in its wake, you either float and take a ride or drown. The memory of my career is only in my mind.

So, here we are…a public personal forum for me again. Let’s hope I can remain positive.

It is not always easy. The four of us have our visions of what life should be. Each one of our visions are different, each not quite what we expected. However, we all have had memorable lives so far. In the grand scheme of things, we’ve done rather well.

I used the other blog as a vent for emotions and I’m sure I’ll go right back to doing the same. It is just what comes natural.

So, this is our blog. Feel free to comment on anything written. We may have an occasional visit from someone from cyber space so remind yourself when you do write.

I love you all.